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<1st attachment, "sd6.txt" begin>
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Skirt Day - by C. Maxwell
Chapter 12: Hangover
The alarm clock sounds like an air siren when Lisa wakes up. She
has a throbbing headache and her stomach is queasy. As she wipes
the sleep from her eyes and desperately fights the temptation to
stay in bed, she tries to remember what day it is. After a few
minutes of thinking, she realizes it is Tuesday. Oh goodness.
Tuesday morning, nowhere close to the weekend. She needs to get
to work!
As she pulls off her pajamas and prepares her shower, she tries to
remember what happened last night. Why is she so hungover? She
remembers having a couple of shots of Vodka - Cheryl's suggestion.
Oh yes, Cheryl. She did this. She took Lisa out on a Monday
night and got her drunk. As Lisa stands beneath the warm water,
eyes closed, head aching, she tries to piece together what
happened last night. She remembers the conversation in the car
(Cheryl really seemed like she was going to be a good friend); she
remembers buying a new skirt (I guess I have to wear that today);
and she remembers . . . the shoe store. Oh my god, the shoe
store! Lisa covers her bare pussy in the shower, as she remembers
being so naked.
She snaps out of her reverie. Must shampoo hair! Must wash body!
Must get dressed! Must get coffee! Must get to work!
She hasn't had a hangover like this since she played a drinking
game in college with a party of girls from her dorm. Even then
she only had vague memories of what happened during that drinking
game so long ago; she remembers a pair of dice, some complicated
rules, 4 or 5 giggling girls, and having to drink shots of Tequila
whenever she rolled a 6 or an 8. She remembers something about a
telephone; something else about an envelope. But the alcohol had
blocked her memory then, and she never spoke of the evening with
those girls afterwards. She has only kept in touch with one of
them. Christie. She should call Christie sometime. It's too bad
she lives so far away now.
Lisa puts on her bathrobe and goes immediately to the kitchen to
make some coffee. Her head is pounding and she is not sure
whether breakfast will make her feel better or worse.
Returning to her bedroom, she looks around for some clothes. On
her dresser, she sees her new black skirt next to multiple bags.
She takes off the robe and pulls on the black skirt first. After
pulling it past her hips, she is again surprised by how short it
is. So much of her thighs are visible! Wearing the skirt reminds
her again of the shoe store, and how much the salesman must have
seen when he held her calf and slipped on her shoes. What did he
think of her? Why did he think she was wearing so short a skirt?
And coverless otherwise? As she remembers it, she starts to feel
aroused. She feels her bare breasts as she looks at her legs and
skirt in her mirror. I'm going to wear this to work today, she
thinks. This tiny skirt will be all that covers me!
The thought of going to work without panties occurs to her and
sends a sudden jolt of pleasure to her crotch, but she quickly
reconsiders. A stranger in a shoe store is one thing, she thinks,
but how humiliating would it be if her colleagues saw her
unclothed pussy? No, no, no. I need panties.
Then she starts to remember. Last night, after buying her shoes,
Cheryl took her to a lingerie store. Lisa had never been in a
store specializing in underwear before. The mannequins wore sexy
transparent garments, some of which Lisa did not even know the
names for. Lisa blushed to be shopping in a place so devoted to
sex. But her own sex was uncovered and dripping wet, and the
thought of having panties to protect her made her find the courage
to follow Cheryl in.
Lisa remembers having trouble walking in her new red shoes. The
heels really seemed quite high, and Lisa noted how effortlessly
Cheryl walked in heels (although Cheryl's looked to be a good inch
shorter). Lisa was mostly concentrating on walking when Cheryl
held up a very tiny piece of red fabric.
"What do you think?" asked Cheryl. "Do they match the shoes?"
Cheryl squatted down and held the fabric against the shoes. Lisa
thought about how much of herself would have been exposed if she
had squatted down like that. It occurred to her that Cheryl could
have made her do so! "They look like a pretty good match to me.
I think we've found you some panties!" Cheryl stood back up and
handed the garment to Lisa. Lisa held it up. It was just a silk
triangle of red fabric and three strings connected in the back.
"These are barely panties!" said Lisa.
"These won't show under that tight skirt," said Cheryl. "Trust
me, they're what you need."
Lisa had never worn a thong. She imagined how uncomfortable a
string between her butt cheeks would feel if worn all day long.
She remembers that she thought then that she should forget the
whole deal and tell Cheryl she couldn't wear this. But she knew
Cheryl would ask "Why not?" Not knowing the answer, she stayed
quiet.
"And to match," said Cheryl, holding up a simple red silk cami
hemmed with lace. "You'll wear this instead of a bra, with a
white blouse."
Lisa was reminded of her lack of bra. She looked down at her blue
sweater and saw that her nipples were still visible.
"Okay," said Lisa, suddenly noting that the salesgirl was watching
her underwear being picked out by another woman, "can we just get
out of here?"
Now Lisa reaches into the bag from that store and pulls out the
red silk thong. She had wanted to wear it after buying it in the
store, but Cheryl had told her not to get it dirty. Lisa slips it
up her legs; she pulls up her skirt and slips the silk up. The
panty fits snugly. She notes a few stray hairs that the small
silk front does not contain.
Lisa thinks: someone might see up my skirt today. This skirt is
so short, I probably can't avoid it! The thought terrifies her
but the arousal she feels tells her that she will - she must - go
through with it. But if someone does see her, she thinks, it
won't do to have these stray hairs! She finds a small pair of
scissors and, skirt pulled to her waist, panties pushed aside,
spends a few minutes trimming what she can. "I can't believe I'm
trimming my pubic hair to prepare for work," she says aloud.
After suitably containing herself, she pulls the skirt down. She
turns around. The skirt hugs her bare ass. She feels the silk
string between her butt cheeks; it feels very naughty. But she
can see no evidence of her underwear behind the tight skirt,
unlike at the store.
She goes back to the bag and finds the red silk cami that Cheryl
had instructed her to wear in place of her usual white bra. She
slips it on. The silk feels soft and light against her skin, and
this cami hangs fairly loosely on her. It is no substitute for a
bra, she thinks. Most notably, her nipples harden at the
luxurious feeling of the soft silk and harden up like little
pebbles, blatantly visible through the red garment. She finds a
white blouse in her closet and puts it on, buttoning all buttons
but the collar. The red cami is only barely visible beneath the
shirt, but the shape of her nipples is still quite obvious.
Finally, Lisa puts on the red shoes that she found next to the
door. She had worn them all last night, and was never certain
whether her difficulty walking was due to the 4 inch heels or the
alcohol.
She remembers starting to get the hang of walking as she followed
Cheryl from the lingerie store to a restaurant in the same mall.
It must have been 8pm by then, and Lisa remembers being starving.
The popular and bustling restaurant had no tables immediately
available, though, so Cheryl and Lisa waited at the bar. That was
when Cheryl ordered 3 shots of Vodka. "One for me and two for
you," she said. "I will have to drive you home later."
Lisa was not usually one to drink hard alcohol, especially not
straight, but after feeling so humiliated at the shoe store she
thought the drinks might calm her, so she downed the shots, one
after the other. With her empty stomach and nervous mood, the
alcohol went straight to her head.
Lisa only vaguely remembers the ensuing events. She remembers
being at the bar for a bit longer. She remembers that the bar
stools were rather high, and the unpadded stools felt cool against
her nakedness. She was still wearing that tiny little skirt and
nothing else.
She vaguely remembers Cheryl's hand on her thigh, gently stroking,
as she whispered into her ear. "You are hot tonight," she thinks
she remembers hearing, although it seemed to make more sense then.
What else? "Men are checking you out. They know what you want."
Lisa isn't sure now whether Cheryl actually said these things, or
whether she had just been thinking them. "I know how aroused you
are. I can /smell/ it. It's your wetness. Your nectar and your
pheromones, leaking out of you. You smell like you need it.
Everyone in here can smell it."
Maybe I dreamed all that, thinks Lisa. Her memory of the bar has
become so clouded; she tries to imagine herself there in this
skirt and these shoes and it doesn't seem like something she would
do. The high heels seem to put her naked legs on a stage; they
seem to make an exhibit of her bare calves and thighs uncovered by
the tiny miniskirt. "I can't go to work like this," she says to
herself. She has worn short skirts to work before, but the high
heels add more to her appearance than she could have imagined.
She sits on her bed and considers her options. She could put on
her favorite pair of black slacks - how comfortably would they
clothe her legs and hide all that flesh from her coworkers. She
wouldn't have to worry about what people could see when she sat
down. She walks to her closet and finds the slacks hanging there.
She runs her hand across the material and then thinks: no. Cheryl
told me to wear this skirt. If I ignore /this/ instruction, then
I am not doing what she says. And if I am not obeying, then my
previous behavior must have been my own choice. Including
exposing herself to the shoe salesman. No, that was not me,
thinks Lisa. Cheryl wanted that. I am proving something here. I
will wear the outfit she asked.
Having made the decision, Lisa looks at herself in the mirror. So
much legflesh appears before her! Her head is still aching from
her hangover, and she is again running late for work. And most of
all, she realizes, she wants nothing more than to return to bed,
tear her skimpy red panties off, and give her the orgasm she has
been craving for days.
"All right," she says to the mirror. "I've done this before. I
can do it again. I'll wear the skirt. But I'll wear pantyhose,
in order to stay looking professional."
And that decision was enough to allow her to finish dressing and
to propel herself out the door, through the streets, and into the
subway.
Even that short walk in her new heels, coupled with her aching
muscles and throbbing head, makes her seek a seat in the still
crowded subway. Only one seat is available, next to a younger man
in a navy blue business suit.
She smiles at him as she sits down, and sees that he is looking at
where the short hem of her tight miniskirt meets her nylon-clad
legs. She suspects that he is tempted to rest his hand on her
thighs and feel the smooth nylon. Or maybe she just wants him to.
A skirt day, she thinks. This man can do what he likes. She
knows he is not going to touch her, but the knowledge that she is
not going to stop him gives her a familiar thrill that awakens her
desires and makes her forget her headache for the rest of the
subway ride. And indeed, the young man politely keeps to himself,
even as Lisa starts rubbing her own thighs while her thoughts
begin to distract her.
By the time Lisa reaches the elevator to her office, she realizes
that the thought of her coworkers seeing her in these high red
heels and a skirt that hugs her figure and then stops so abruptly
is making her anxious and very, very horny. She remembers that
she needs permission to masturbate, and she decides she has to ask
Cheryl again. It would feel so good right now, she thinks.
Walking down the halls from the elevator to the cubicle, she can
see the men of her office turn their heads. The heels have
changed her gait, making it into more of a hip-shaking strut.
They make it seem as if she is showing off her body in this
provocative outfit. What must they think of me?
Then she notices another effect she had not considered: this skirt
rides up, and much more so against the nylon of her pantyhose than
it ever had against bare legs. Knowing that her office is looking
at her, she finds she needs to tug down her skirt every few steps.
Finally in the safety of her cubicle, Lisa sits down and tugs at
the hem of her skirt a final time.
Her morning email check yielded another message from Steve:
Lisa -
Can't seem to shake this cold.
I'm sure I'll be good to work tomorrow.
Let me know by email if there's any way I can help from
home.
- S
Lisa realizes she was hoping Steve would see her new outfit.
Would Steve comment on the scandalously short skirt and the bright
red heels? She remembers what Cheryl said: Steve is not sick;
he's sulking. That's ridiculous, thinks Lisa, and she is about to
write an email apologizing to him when Cheryl sneaks her head into
Lisa's cubicle.
"Good morning! Did you sleep well?"
Cheryl is wearing black pants and a burgundy blouse. She looks
elegant and professional.
Lisa tugs at her skirt again before swiveling her chair to face
Cheryl. "I . . . think so."
"You think so?"
"Actually, Cheryl, I don't really remember what happened last
night."
Cheryl smiles and offers her hand to Lisa. "You look a little
hungover. No surprise, after how many drinks you had last night.
Come on, come with me to the bathroom, I'll help you hide the
evidence."
Lisa takes Cheryl's hand and follows her lead to the women's
bathroom, periodically tugging the hem of her skirt.
Both women are standing by the mirror. Cheryl takes some make-up
out of her purse.
"You need to learn some make-up tricks," says Cheryl, as she
starts her work, first on Lisa's eyes. "You'd do better with a
bit more, generally, but on morning's like this it's the only way
to hide the evidence of your partying last night!"
"What happened last night?" asks Lisa as Cheryl got to work, "I
really don't remember anything after you ordered those shots of
vodka."
"You don't remember Joe and Joe?"
Lisa had forgotten, but the names Joe and Joe made her remember.
"Oh, right, they offered to buy us drinks. I remember that. Two
guys, both named Joe."
"They saw your cute little skirt and closed in like wolves, those
two," says Cheryl as she continues to work on Lisa's make-up. "I
think the first Joe, the big one, wanted to get better acquainted
with your bare legs, and the second couldn't take his eyes off
your nipples."
"It was so funny how they were both named Joe," says Lisa. "They
wouldn't listen when I told them I had had enough to drink."
"Hey, they were paying, so don't complain. They bought us dinner,
too."
Lisa tries to remember, but only vaguely remembered eating.
"There," says Cheryl, looking in the mirror. Lisa looks at her
own face. Her eyes are carefully outlined, her cheeks a little
redder. She did look less hungover, she thinks, but also more . .
. womanly.
"Um, thanks," says Lisa.
"Do you have any meetings today?" asks Cheryl as she starts to
unbutton the top buttons of Lisa's blouse.
"What are you doing?" asks Lisa.
"I didn't buy that you pretty red cami to be hidden. It matches
your shoes and your panties. It's bad enough you've hidden your
panties behind those dark pantyhose. You need something to go
with your shoes."
Lisa sees in the mirror that Cheryl unbuttoned enough buttons to
reveal the red lace of the cami beneath her blouse.
"Now," continues Cheryl, "do you have any meetings today?"
"Um, one, I think. With Jim."
"Ah, Jim. More ass-kissing for the promotion, I guess?"
"No! Not at all!" Lisa looks into Cheryl's eyes. "He called
this meeting. I don't know why. I thought you said you believed
me - anyway you should believe me. I'm not doing anything but my
normal work to get that promotion."
Cheryl finishes straightening Lisa's blouse. "Oh, you're probably
right. You're just wearing this sexy outfit because I told you
to, right?"
"Of course! I wore exactly what you said!"
"Well, not exactly. These pantyhose were not part of the outfit."
"But, don't you think bare legs would have been too
unprofessional?"
Cheryl looks at Lisa's legs and sighs. "I'll tell you what," she
says, "Jim is the boss. It's his opinion that counts. Here's
what I want you to do. You can wear your hose while you work at
your cubicle, but right before your meeting with Jim I want you to
take them off and leave them with me. Then, in your meeting, you
can ask Jim whether you think your attire is suitable for the
office or not. If he says it isn't, I'll give you back the
pantyhose and you can wear them for the rest of the day. If he
approves of your bare legs, though, then I'll just keep them, and
you shouldn't ever have to wear them again."
"But . . . "
"But what?" Cheryl steps closer to Lisa and puts one finger on
Lisa's lips. Her other hand reaches down to Lisa's ass, tightly
encased in the black miniskirt. She lightly touches Lisa's right
butt cheek, sending shivers up Lisa's body. The feeling of
Cheryl's hand there, almost a tickle, is awakening her desire.
"Do as I say," whispers Cheryl, "and later on, I'll give you that
permission you wanted. I haven't forgotten your request."
Cheryl's hand and the promise of a masturbatory orgasm almost
makes Lisa moan. Certainly she could think of nothing to say, and
only nods her head.
Chapter 13: Opportunity Knocks
That is why, when Jim called Lisa's cubicle at 2 o'clock, she told
him she needed fifteen minutes to finish something up. During
those fifteen minutes, she goes to the bathroom and removes her
pantyhose.
Looking at herself in the mirror reminds her of why she had chosen
to wear the nylons in the first place. Her tiny miniskirt really
only barely comes a few inches past the juncture of her thighs,
and with her red high heeled pumps, her legs are very obviously on
display. Her blouse is unbuttoned to reveal her lacy cami.
Looking at herself in the mirror reminds her of last Friday. She
remembers seeing herself in the mirror then, just as now, thinking
how sexual she looked. Indeed, her professional stature, her
intellect, her bossy personality - none of that is visible. All
she sees is something sexual; something that desires pleasure. She
remembers sneaking her hand under her skirt and giving herself
that pleasure last Friday. She remembers how good it felt.
But then she remembers Cheryl interrupting her, and how guilty she
felt. Not this time, she thinks. She fights the temptation to
touch herself. She tugs down her skirt and marches straight to
Cheryl's cubicle.
When she looks in on Cheryl, she sees that she is in a meeting
with Art, another colleague. Cheryl sees Lisa. "Lisa, you have
something for me?"
Lisa's pantyhose are balled up in her hands. Art is staring at
her; at her blushing face, her silky underwear, at her exposed
legs. "Yeah, um, I'll just get it to you later."
"Nonsense," says Cheryl, "give them to me now."
Unsure, Lisa hands the balled up nylons to Cheryl, who makes no
effort to hide their identity to Art. "Have a good meeting."
Lisa rushes away as fast as she can in her heels, not waiting to
see Art's reaction. She feels humiliated, but she remembers
Cheryl's promise: soon she will get to give herself the pleasure
she's been longing for all day.
She knocks timidly on Jim's door. "Come in."
She enters the spacious office and sees that Jim is seated at his
art-deco desk. On that desk is a pair of white cardboard boxes.
"Have a seat," he says.
Lisa looks at the low armchair facing Jim's desk. With her
pantyhose gone, sitting in this skirt seems indecent. But she
thinks of no other choice and sits. She feels her bare ass on its
leather.
"Red!" says Jim.
"What?"
"Your . . . shoes. I mean. Your shoes. Red. I like your red
shoes."
Lisa blushes. He must mean my panties. She rests her hands at her
crotch to try to hide them. An awkward silence ensues.
"Thanks. About the shoes, I mean." She thinks for a second,
remembering what Cheryl asked her to do. "Do you think the heels
are too high for the office?"
"Not at all," says Jim. "High heels give you more authority, I
think. They are very professional."
"Sure," says Lisa, "but what about bare legs? Don't you think my
bare legs and short miniskirt are a little bit unprofessional? I
shouldn't have worn this today. Let me apologize . . ."
"Nonsense," says Jim. "Just like I told you last week, I have no
problem with bare legs; in fact I like your attire."
"Yes but surely bare legs are simply too casual and too
unprofessional for the office? Would you want me to meet a client
like this?"
Jim smiled. "We have no dress code here, Lisa. You can wear what
you want to wear - including when you meet with clients. Looking
at your reports, whatever you're doing is clearly working, so wear
whatever you want."
"But sir, I . . . "
"Call me Jim. And really, don't worry about it. Yes, your skirt
is a little shorter than the norm, but it looks good on you. Wear
it whenever you want."
Lisa slumps into the chair, defeated. Jim was not going to save
her.
"However," says Jim, "this leads me to the reason I wanted to talk
to you."
Lisa absentmindedly crosses her legs, and the skirt rides up
revealing most of her ass. She uncrosses and tugs her skirt back
down again. She sees that Jim's gaze is directly at her crotch.
"I, um," Jim stammers, "I want you to get the assistant director
position. I want the promotion to go to you."
"I'm glad to hear it, sir," says Lisa.
"I told you to call me Jim. Now, my opinion is important, but
unfortunately it's not entirely up to me. The other directors
have a say, too, and they are inclined to choose someone with more
seniority than you, like George or Cheryl."
"Well, sir, I would understand if . . . "
"Nonsense. We both know you're more qualified than either of
them. The other directors have seen your reports but they haven't
met you in person. That's what I want to change. I want there to
be a meeting before they decide."
"When are they going to decide?"
"Monday morning. And, unfortunately, I couldn't think of a
business-related opportunity for such a meeting. But I did think
of one thing . . ."
Lisa is nervous and excited. She has been working hard for this
promotion.
"Golf," says Jim.
"Golf?"
"Golf."
Lisa looks confused. Golf?
"On Friday mornings, me and a couple of the directors meet to play
golf up north. It's the only chance for you to meet these guys.
I want you to come with us."
"But I don't play golf."
"That's okay. You can be my caddy."
"Caddy?"
"Look, it's not important. All that is important is that you're
there, and that you talk to the directors and show them that
you're not too young for the job."
Lisa looks confused, but she says, "Okay, Jim, I'll go golfing
with you."
"Great. But, there's one thing . . . I hate to mention it, but I
thought it might be an issue. See, this office has no dress code,
but the golf club does. And you couldn't go dressed like . . .
that."
Lisa feels blood rush to her face and to her crotch. "No, sir, of
course not, I wouldn't. I mean, I only . . . "
"Lisa, don't worry. I told you I think you look fine. It's just
the golf club that's a little stuck up. That's why I bought you
these." He pushes the white boxes towards her. "I didn't want
you to feel out of place, so I bought you some clothes to wear.
You'll look like you golf every other day in these."
Lisa opens up the first box and sees a white and green golf shirt.
"They should be your size," says Jim. "Meet me at the office at
6am and we'll drive together to the course."
Lisa thanks him, still flustered. She takes the boxes, and
leaves.
Cheryl is waiting outside the door. "Well?" she asks, as the two
women walk back towards her cubicle.
Lisa stands several inches taller than Cheryl, especially in her
high heels, but the heels, her tiny skirt, and unbuttoned blouse
in contrast to Cheryl's simple elegance makes her feel vulnerable
to Cheryl's judgment. "He thinks my bare legs are okay," says
Lisa.
"Well, then, that's it. There's no need for you to ever wear
pantyhose again."
Lisa feels a new wetness in her crotch. She feels the air
currents beneath her tiny skirt; her skimpy silk panties provide
almost no protection. And now she is forbidden the protection of
her pantyhose!
"What else did he say?" asks Cheryl.
"He . . . he wants me to go golfing on Friday. He asked me to go
golfing with him."
"He invited you to Friday golf?" Cheryl is silent for a moment.
"Interesting. Very interesting. Oh, I have a great idea. Are
you leaving from here?"
"Yeah, I guess. 6am."
"Great. I want you to come a little early - say 5:30. I might
have some advice for you."
"Advice?" Lisa looks worriedly at Cheryl.
"Oh, and see if you can wear a skirt that day. I want that day to
be another skirt day."
"Actually, he bought me some clothes to wear. It's probably a
pair of shorts."
"Probably?"
At this point the women have reached Lisa's cubicle. "I think
so," says Lisa, but to make sure she opens the second box. She
pulls out the white cotton garment.
It is a skirt. Pleated. She holds the skirt against herself and
sees that it comes nearly to her knees. She looks at the tag:
"Bob's Golf World. $218."
"Oh my god," says Lisa, "it's over two hundred dollars!"
Cheryl grins. "I always suspected Jim was a . . . well, he's a
good guy. What a nice gift. A golf skirt. So, it looks like
Friday will be another skirt day. I'll see you at 5:30." And
Cheryl walks away.
Chapter 14: Permission
Lisa has a bad feeling about Friday. Her feelings on Cheryl are
mixed. Cheryl seems so nice, but she worries that Cheryl is going
to make her humiliation worse and worse. She wishes she had never
told Cheryl about her skirt day promise.
And yet, Lisa finds herself checking her email, hoping that Cheryl
will send her a message. She rubs her bare thighs, feeling the
soft flesh close to her red panties. The thought of what Cheryl
has in mind on Friday makes her nervous, but then she thinks about
meeting the directors of her corporation in a skirt, knowing that
she has to obey. Her pussy moistens and beckons her to touch
herself. She looks over her shoulder to make sure no one can see
her and starts to touch the red silk of her panties. The material
is so soft, and the combined feeling of the soft silk and her own
wetness against her lips sends warm waves of pleasure through the
rest of her body. She rubs the silk top behind her blouse,
feeling her nipples. They are very sensitive, and she pinches
them through the silk.
Usually, this time of the month she masturbates at least twice a
day. Ever since she started taking her birth control pill, in
college, her hormones have driven her mad at this part of her
cycle. But now, she has promised not to pleasure herself without
permission. She remembers that Cheryl said she would give
permission! She looks up Cheryl's number and calls her.
"Cheryl here."
"Cheryl, it's Lisa. You told me earlier, in the bathroom, that if
I did what you said you would give me permission to . . . you
know."
"I really love it how you ask. So shy. Remember when you asked
last night?"
"Last night? No, I don't really remember. I asked last night?"
"Oh, you were so drunk last night. Joe and Joe were having a
great time. You don't remember sitting between them at the
table?"
"Oh, I'm starting to remember." Cheryl's words made Lisa recall
the scene. They were in a booth in the restaurant. Lisa was in
the middle, and Joe was sitting to her left. His larger friend,
also named Joe, sat to her right. And Joe the larger had started
feeling her bare leg. Lisa could barely complete a sentence at
that point in the evening. But Joe's hand was warm and she
remembers thinking that it would feel good on her bare pussy. So
she opened her legs a little for him, but this bumped Joe, the
smaller, in the knee. When he saw what was going on, he put his
own hand on her leg.
This hardly seemed real to Lisa now. She had just met these two
men; they had bought her several drinks at the bar, and then all
that wine with dinner, and now their hands were on her bare
thighs. She thinks she would have crossed her legs and clamped
them shut, but she knows she didn't. No. She opened them, just a
little.
Big Joe's hand was about midway up her thigh, and little Joe's
hand was only inside her knee. But little Joe slid his hand
upwards until he collided with big Joe's hand, which caused Big
Joe to slide his hand higher. Lisa looked at Cheryl, who sat
opposite her, in a chair on the other side of the booth. Cheryl
had a knowing smile on her face.
"So," Lisa had said, trying to break the silence, "What kind of
work are you two boys into?"
The larger one said, "I sell computer equipment." He slid his
hand to the hem of Lisa's skirt, mere inches from her naked pussy.
"Joe is a high school teacher."
"Really?" said Lisa, turning to the smaller Joe, but the feel of
big Joe's hand against her upper thigh was driving her crazy. She
wanted to feel his hand on her pussy. She knew it would be enough
to make her come, and with the alcohol, she didn't care who saw.
She needed to feel it, and knew she would.
"Lisa, are you still there?" says Cheryl, over the phone. Lisa
had been silent as she tried to remember what had happened the
previous evening. Her memory again starts to fade.
"Yeah, I'm still here. I'm still having trouble remembering what
happened last night. Did Joe, you know, the bigger one, did he .
. . touch me in that restaurant?"
"You really don't remember, do you? You were pretty wasted.
Don't worry. I thought you'd regret having an orgasm in so public
a place, so I made him stop."
"You did?"
"Oh, he was touching you alright! It was pretty obvious. You
probably weren't aware of how much you were moaning and writhing
around. The couple at the next table were having a ball watching
you. They knew what was happening too!"
Lisa felt her entire body blush. The thought of all those people
watching her being fondled in a public restaurant . . .
"But you made him stop?"
"That's right. You were about to come, and I told him to cut it
out or he'd regret it. He got pretty nervous. You don't remember
any of this?"
"Only a little. I . . . I remember him touching me. His hand was
warm and, well, he knew what he was doing. I was so wet, and his
fingers had found my . . . oh my god, Cheryl, we should /not/ be
talking about this in the office."
"Relax, no one can hear. Yeah, he was pretty nervous when I made
him stop. But then you were just adorable. You looked at me with
little puppy dog eyes and mouthed the word 'please.' You looked
so desperate!"
"I didn't!" exclaims Lisa.
"Oh, you definitely did. I could see you squirm when Joe's hands
- and the other Joe's hands -- returned to the table. Big Joe had
to clean off his fingers with his napkin! It was a riot!"
Lisa wants to hide, she feels so ashamed. And yet, she can feel
that she is very, very wet.
"Cheryl, can I do it now?"
"Not just yet, Lisa. You probably have lots of work to do, and
besides, you don't want to get caught pleasuring yourself in the
middle of the work day! I'll tell you what, though. Around 6pm,
get yourself an early dinner somewhere nearby, and come back to
the office. I have something I want to show you after everyone
has left. And then, you can have permission."
The rest of Lisa's day passed in horny frustration and
anticipation. She knew Cheryl had something planned - something
exposing and humiliating and horrible - but nonetheless she found
she could think of little else, and could hardly wait for whatever
it was.
Chapter 15: Cheryl's second cliché
Lisa had dinner at a sandwich shop on the first floor of her
building. The shop was fairly crowded around 6, mostly with
businessmen in large groups who would come into the shop, see Lisa
in her short skirt and high heeled shoes, her nipples poking
through her blouse. They would comment to each other as if she
weren't there, eating her sandwich, trying to keep her legs closed
even though she knew everyone could see her panties. Lisa tried
to ignore them, but found that their audible comments and their
laughter only served to heighten the arousal that had already
reached record highs in anticipation of Cheryl's unknown plan.
When she comes back to the office, it is indeed empty. One or two
workers are still there, but from countless nights working after
hours Lisa knows the place would be deserted in a few minutes.
She finds Cheryl in her cubicle. She is reading her email.
"Hi," says Lisa. Cheryl looks over at her.
"C'mon," says Cheryl, "let's go over to your cubicle." Cheryl
grabs a black bag from under her desk before they go.
At Lisa's cubicle, Lisa sits in her usual chair and Cheryl pulls
up a chair from the next cubicle over.
"Okay," says Cheryl, "It's time we had a talk."
Lisa is worried. This is all so much easier if she doesn't have
to talk about it, she thinks.
"Did you enjoy yourself last night?" asks Cheryl.
"Well, yes, I guess I did. I don't really remember."
"Do you remember the shoe store?"
Lisa tugs at her skirt. Her legs are still naked. "Yes."
"Did you enjoy showing off?"
Lisa remembers how aroused she was. It felt so very good, but . .
. but how could she have enjoyed such humiliation? "Of course not.
That was . . . obscene. I would never do that again."
"Really? You seemed awfully . . . turned on . . . at the time."
Lisa crossed her arms across her chest. "Well . . . " she
admitted, "I was turned on, because I didn't know what would
happen. But that's all. I would never do it again. Never."
Cheryl smiled and reached into her bag. She pulled out a long,
plastic object with a power cord dangling from one end.
"Lisa, I want you to put your hands behind your head, and leave
them there. It's a skirt day, and this is a direct order." Lisa
gave a worried look but put her hands behind her head. Her body
seemed to be presented to Cheryl.
"Are you turned on right now, Lisa?" asked Cheryl, touching Lisa's
bare knee. "You don't know what's going to happen now, do you?"
Cheryl traced her finger up Lisa's thigh, sending shivers
throughout Lisa's body.
"I am very turned on," said Lisa. "You said I could have
permission."
Cheryl plugged the plastic object into an outlet by Lisa's desk.
"Do you know what this is?"
Lisa looked closely at it. White, plastic, smooth, wand-shaped.
"It looks like . . . a vibrator?"
"Have you played with one of these before?"
Lisa had heard of them, but had always been too shy to go to any
kind of store where she could buy one. "No."
"Well, then, I can't wait to see what you think." Cheryl pushed
Lisa's legs apart and rested the tip of the plastic wand against
Lisa's panties. The feel of the hard object against her made her
shudder with pleasure. "Are you ready?"
Lisa could feel her pussy gushing. She couldn't believe she was
letting Cheryl do this, but she knew she wanted it. "Yes," she
said. And suddenly, a flick of Cheryl's fingers started what felt
the injection of pure pleasure straight into Lisa's engorged
clitoris. Lisa had no idea how good it would feel. The
vibrations on her barely-covered sex caused her to moan and push
herself against the wand. She could feel her orgasm coming
quickly, very quickly!
But Cheryl flicks off the switch. "How was that?"
"Oh my god, I need more. I need more NOW," said Lisa. "Please."
Cheryl pulled the vibrator away. "Then be honest with me. Did
you enjoy what we did in the shoe store?"
Lisa still has her hands behind her head, but the arousal in her
crotch left behind by the vibrator seems to scream for one of her
fingers. She looks at the vibrator. "Please, Cheryl. Please!"
"Did you enjoy yourself? Just be honest!"
"I already said I did!"
"Would you do it again if I asked?"
"Well, if you asked, I guess I would."
"But you said you'd never do it again."
Lisa feels like she is on trial, but she could feel the juices
from her pussy starting to leak from her silk panties. This would
all be so much easier if I could just have that orgasm, she
thinks.
"I really would do it again if you asked."
Cheryl smiles. "I'm not so sure. We'll come back to the vibrator
in a few minutes; I want to show you something first."
Cheryl reaches over to Lisa's computer keyboard. She opens a web
browser and types in a URL. "This is what I want to show you." A
web page loads with a window for streaming video. Cheryl clicks
the play button. The video shows an office Lisa has never seen
before. Nothing happens for a few seconds.
As Lisa watches the movie, Cheryl lightly touches Lisa's thighs,
occasionally brushing her fingers against Lisa's panties, just
inches from the hem of Lisa's skirt. "There's no sound," says
Cheryl to Lisa, "so I'll have to tell you what's going on."
A blonde woman in a beige, knee-length skirt, white hose, and
white blouse enters the office. The camera's field of view
includes one edge of a large desk; the blonde sits at a chair a
few feet away from that edge of the desk. Cheryl says "This
woman's boss is on the other side of the desk. He is asking her a
few questions, and reminding her of an agreement they had made the
previous day."
Lisa sees the woman start to look worried. She looks down at the
buttons of her blouse.
"See," says Cheryl, "this woman is a lot like you, except she got
herself in some trouble. Her boss caught her making fraudulent
purchase orders in order to embezzle over $14,000 of company
money. She should have been fired and sent to prison, but she was
saved by her good looks. Watch this."
The woman starts to unbutton her blouse. When it is completely
unbuttoned, she pulls it off and hands it to the man on the other
side of the desk, off-camera. Her white bra is extremely low-cut,
and Lisa thinks she can see the woman's nipples, except the
resolution of the video leaves her unsure.
"Like you," says Cheryl, "this woman agreed to do everything she
was told. That's why she's undressing. See, she has no choice."
Lisa watches as the woman unhooks her bra and removes it. Then
she stands up and pulls her beige skirt up to her waist, revealing
a white garter belt holding up her white stockings. Lisa sees
that she is not wearing any panties.
Meanwhile, Cheryl's hand is tickling Lisa's inner thigh, reminding
her of her own arousal. Cheryl whispers "That woman is so aroused
right now, she can barely stand it. She is just like you. Well,
almost." Lisa's hands are still behind her head, and she wishes
Cheryl would touch her panties again. She has never before been
touched by a woman but the vibrator left her in dire need.
The woman in the video sits back down in the chair and, looking
ahead across the desk, hesitantly reaches between her legs and
begins stroking herself.
"He has ordered her to pleasure herself," says Cheryl. "She says
no at first; she says she can't possibly do that in front of
someone else, but then he threatens to go to the police, and she
tells him she'll try. What do you think? Is she going to go all
the way?"
Lisa sees the woman close her eyes as her rubbing speeds up. Lisa
has never seen another woman masturbate, and it desperately makes
her want to touch her own pussy. "Yes," said Lisa, "I think she
really wants to go all the way."
"Wait. Watch this." Lisa watches. It looks as though the woman
in the video is now looking at her, Lisa, right in the eye! She
must be looking at the camera, Lisa thinks! "He told her she's on
film and pointed out the camera." Lisa notices that the woman has
not stopped touching herself. Now the woman is looking at the
camera as she strokes her clit.
Lisa is transfixed by the woman. "See," says Cheryl as she pulls
away from Lisa and gets another item from her black handbag, "she
is just like you, but unlike you, she has no choice. She needs to
do this or go to jail."
The woman's eyes have closed again, and she is clearly writhing in
pleasure. Both hands are at her pussy now, and their motions are
nicely framed by her white garters and stockings.
"You can touch yourself now, Lisa, but you may not come," says
Cheryl. Lisa takes her hands from behind her head and starts to
rub her panties as she watches the woman. Cheryl is doing
something in her bag, but she looks up and says, "Take off your
panties, Lisa. Don't worry, no one is here." Lisa pulls the red
silk panties off and pulls them down her legs, leaving them
puddled at her ankles. They really do match her shoes. She
immediately starts rubbing her clit again. It feels so delicious
to finally touch myself, she thinks, as her fingers fill her with
her familiar warmth.
"Now," says Cheryl, "don't come yet. Just listen. You are not
like that woman, because you have a choice. You don't have to do
this."
Lisa is confused. "Yes, I have to do this. It's a skirt day.
I'm wearing a skirt. So I have to do what you say."
"What will happen if you don't?"
"Well, nothing, but . . ."
"Who enforces your skirt day rules?"
"Just me, I guess, but . . . "
"But nothing," says Cheryl. "You have a choice. You could stop
touching yourself right now, pull up your underwear, and go home,
couldn't you?"
"I guess."
"Wouldn't it be nice to not have a choice? Wouldn't it be better
if you knew that, like the woman in the video, you were doing what
I and everyone else said because something awful would happen if
you didn't?"
Lisa is furiously rubbing her clit now, as is the woman in the
video. Lisa can see that the woman in the video is close to her
release, but Cheryl had told Lisa she could not yet come. Why
/did/ she have to listen to Cheryl? She knows she could disobey
and have the orgasm she craves right now. Not having a choice
seems easier. It seems . . . better.
"Be honest, Lisa," says Cheryl, "this is all your choice, but you
would rather it were mine, don't you? If you're honest with me,
then you may use the vibrator."
The thought of the pleasure that the wand brought her drives Lisa
to the edge. She has to stop rubbing to keep from coming. "Yes,"
she says, "yes! It would be better!"
Cheryl finishes her work in the bag and pulls out a digital
camcorder. She points it at Lisa. "Okay, Lisa. Like the woman,
you are on film." Lisa pulls her attention from the video and
scrambles to hide her wet, nude pussy from the camera. She
looks at the camera lens which seems to stare at her, unblinking.
"If you want to," says Cheryl, "you can take that vibrator and
give yourself all the pleasure you want. But if you do, I will
capture it on film."
Lisa looks at the vibrator and remembers how good it felt. "You
can get up and leave right now if you want," says Cheryl, "but
then you and I will always know that your skirt days are your
choice. We will both know that you are the sort of woman who
simply enjoys shoving her wet, naked cunt in the faces of
unsuspecting shoe salesmen. But if you're really doing it because
it's not your choice, then it shouldn't matter if I've caught you
on film."
Lisa looks at the camera, confused. She looks at the woman on the
video who is now clearly moaning her pleasure as she orgasms on
film. The woman's nipples are hard, her back is arched, her head
is back, her eyes are closed, and her fingers are deep inside her
dripping pussy, and although there is no sound Lisa can almost
hear her screaming in pleasure. Lisa's own sex can still remember
the pleasure of the vibrator, and Lisa is dying to feel it again,
but the camera continues its steady gaze.
This is it, thinks Lisa. She thinks about what has led her to
this point. She knows that if she pulls on her panties and
leaves, her life will go back to normal. But if she gives herself
the orgasm she craves, then she knows that she is embarking on a
new, sexual adventure that could lead her to unthinkable
pleasures. She reaches for the vibrator on her desk. She knows
the camera can see up her tiny skirt; she knows it can see that
she is wet, that her clit is giant and red, and she knows that she
can see her touch the vibrator to herself. "Good," says Cheryl.
"Go ahead, turn it on."
When Lisa flicks the switch, the pleasure is overwhelming. With
the vibrator in her hands, Lisa realizes that nothing, not Cheryl,
not even a pair of panties, stands between her and the orgasm.
The vibrations on her clit are almost too much; they make her
scream out loud. She moves the vibrator between her lips with one
hand and touches her clit with the other. She gently pushes the
vibrator inside her, feeling the vibrations emanate pleasure all
through her body. The pleasure is so intense she forgets the
camera, but only for a moment.
"If you disobey me," Cheryl says as she films, "then this video
will end up on the internet, just like that woman's." Lisa looks
over at the video and sees that there is now a large black man in
the shot, his pants around his ankles, his cock in the mouth of
the blonde woman. "She disobeyed, and now everyone knows. Think
about that, Lisa. Do you want to end up like her?" The
vibrations are sending Lisa over the edge. She looks at the
camera. She knows what this means. This means she is committed.
This means that she will have no choice. She is now thrusting the
vibrator in and out of herself as she furiously rubs her clit.
This means that skirt days are for real. The thought that Cheryl
can now ruin her if she backs down sends the final jolt of
pleasure through her body, sending every muscle in a violent,
pleasurable convulsion. "OOOOH GOOOOOODDDDD!!!!" she screams as
the orgasm rips through her, stimulating every nerve from head to
toe.
The orgasm seems to last for hours, coming back in little spurts
as Lisa returns the vibrator to her clit, as she opens her eyes
and sees the camera's unblinking lens, as she recalls what she has
gotten herself into.
When it is over, she feels completely exhausted. The video is
still playing; she sees that the woman is now being fucked from
behind by the large black man, whose uniform suggests a custodial
position. She realizes what Cheryl's video has captured. It has
captured Lisa, in her cubicle, at work, furiously masturbating
with a vibrator as footage of a woman giving a blowjob to a large
black man is showing on her computer screen. The video shows no
struggle, no circumstance, no context. Lisa realizes that if her
coworkers saw this video, she could not work here again. She
probably could not work anywhere. And yet, she thinks, she did
this to herself. She wanted this.
"Please," says Lisa, "Don't show that video to anyone. Please."
Cheryl smiles as she packs the camera and the vibrator in her bag.
"Don't worry," she says. "It will be for my eyes only, as long as
you stick to your promises. When you're wearing a skirt, you do
what anyone says. Just like you promised. If I find you've
disobeyed me or anyone else, then I know just how to get that
promotion." Cheryl patted the camera. "But as long as you stick
to the deal, you'll probably get the promotion. Heck, you deserve
it more than me. You work much harder."
Lisa pulls her panties up her legs. The wet silk makes contact
with her even wetter pussy.
"And don't forget," says Cheryl, "to meet me before you go golfing
on Friday. And no more pantyhose, ever. And no masturbating
without my permission."
Lisa nods, realizing that she will really have to obey, now. "Oh,
and I almost forgot. You and I are going to a party on Saturday.
My friend Martin - you'll like Martin - he gave me lots of advice
about you and really wants to meet you, so he's throwing a small
party. I'll pick you up at your place. Wear one of your skirts,
of course. We'll go shopping and buy an appropriate cocktail
dress before we go."
Lisa's nervousness grows. But now she has no choice. "Okay," she
says.
"I have one last thing for you to do this evening," she says. She
takes a notepad from Lisa's desk and scrawls down an address. "Go
to this address now. You can get there by taking the red-line.
Don't worry, it's a safe neighborhood. The apartment is just a
couple blocks from the subway stop. Knock on the door, and don't
leave until someone answers. Then you are to do everything that
person says. Understood?"
Lisa again nods.
"Good night," says Cheryl. "See you tomorrow morning!"
Cheryl leaves with her black bag. With the vibrator that gave
Lisa so much pleasure. With the camera with the footage. With
Lisa's future.
Meanwhile, the blonde in the video is still being fucked from
behind, this time by the janitor's mop handle. The woman is still
screaming in ecstasy. "Is this really real?" asks Lisa, as she
looks at the footage more carefully. It starts looking more and
more like a low-production-value porn movie. "It doesn't matter
now," she thinks, as she closes the window and shuts down her
computer.
Chapter 15.9. Just a teaser for what's to come . . .
The city is dark and uncrowded as Lisa takes the subway to an
unfamiliar stop. She feels vulnerable in her tiny skirt and high
heels, but indeed she is able to find the address Cheryl gave her
without any difficulty.
It is a small apartment complex. The apartments make a U-shape
around a shared parking lot. She looks at door number 3, where
she is supposed to knock according to Cheryl's instructions.
She tries to imagine what lies behind the door. Her imagination
tends toward the large black janitor, forcing his mop handle into
the blonde woman who had no choice. What if she was going to have
to have sex with this person? What if this person beats her? She
feels very frightened. Her trust for Cheryl is uncertain, but not
completely absent. The danger awakens her pussy again. She has
no choice, she thinks, as she feels the warmth return to her
pussy.
She knocks on the door three times. After a brief pause, she
knocks again. "Hold on," shouts a male voice. She waits.
Finally, the door opens. She looks down and sees that the man is
wearing simple gray sweat pants and a plain white undershirt. She
looks at his face, which is unshaven and looks confused.
Then she recognizes him. It is Steve.
-------------------------------------------
That's all for now. Special thanks to Susie, who really motivated
me to get this written. Thanks to everyone else who sent me email;
your encouragement made this happen.
It will be at least two weeks before the next installment and
possibly more. If you want to see more chapters, keep the emails
coming!
Send your emails to flapaddict@yahoo.com.
All comments are welcome.
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